Chapter One: (Roy's POV)
"Oi! Stupid-head!" Dana was so eloquent. "I'm gonna have your head for a football!"
I slowed to a jog to reply over my shoulder. "You'd never catch me, retard!"
That made him mad. Panting, I sped up and rounded the corner, flying up the whitewashed stairs.
"Retard? I'll give you retarded, you little nerd!"
Now he had to be joking. Had he forgotten what had happened last time he messed with me?
"Feel like going back to juvie? I hear you found some friends there!"
"Shut up, Montana!"
I was laughing full out now, and I even forgot to run.
"Montana? That's so old, Juvie!"
He didn't like his new nickname.
"Juvie juvie juvie, where have you gone?"
I figured he gave up, since he couldn't scare me anymore.
I figured wrong.
I saw it happen in flashes. A burlap sack flew over my head and down past my protesting arms. It muffled my voice as I yelled, and he must've tied it tight, because next thing I knew my feet were lifted off the ground as he dragged me… somewhere. Damn. This is not good.
"Good morning, Principal."
"Good morning, Dana. What's in the sack?"
"Now was my chance! I struggled, but the shaking he was doing gave me a headache. I tried to scream.
"Just some salmon I'm takin' down to the freezer for the lunch tomorrow. Guess I got used to helpin' out 'round places."
Oh, this was TOO much. He was using my captivity to make him look like the Citizen of the Month or something. How bloody ironic.
"Well hurry up, then. Here's the key."
"Thank you, sir."
I guess that exhausted his limited vocabulary, because we were definitely moving again, at a fast jog. I had no idea Dana was so fit: he was carrying all 90… err, 97! pounds of me over his shoulder, and still making good time. Wherever we happened to be going.
I found out sooner than later that he was going to make good on his promise of the freezer. "Oh Lord," I thought, "Dana's lost it. He's really trying to kill me! I'm gonna die of hypothermia before anyone finds me!" The last struggle at my life was something I thought I'd rather die than do: I begged Dana. It was hard to draw air through the thick sack, but I pleaded as loud as I could, "Please lemme go!" I got a sharp kick for my efforts, and I keeled over on my right side. He didn't bother to pick me back up. Instead, with a barking chuckle, he shut the door, saying as he did, "Sweet dreams, Montana!"
I was doomed.
Chapter Two: Frozen
My fingers were the first to freeze. I knew this because the low body temperature had made me very alert to what happened with my body.
I tapped them together, and felt nothing. They were like little, undersized bricks. I was scared, and I tapped my heels together. Thank God, I could feel them.
After my toes froze (I giggled with hysteria when I realized this rhymed: toes froze) the next to go were my eyes. They didn't do me any good, and at first I didn't know. I thought I was just asleep. But no, I was aware of every sound in the cold, cold freezer. Every whir of the machine, every tick of the kitchen clock. It was maddening. I missed my eyes.
After I lost my shoulders and knees, I decided to go to sleep. If I ended up dead here, I wanted to die peacefully, not trashing around as I had been. I thought of what my mom had said about falling asleep if you were scared: to think of things that made you feel better. I thought of Beatrice… her bright hair, the way she had beaten Dana last time, the way she laughed at my fears. I thought of the owls we had saved from Mother Paula's destructive plans, their solemn faces safe at last in the preserve. I thought of my parents: my mom with her sweet, childish way of talking to me, and my dad, with his great jokes and caring words.
Then, I bit my lip. I didn't want to think of Mullet Fingers. It was… t-too hard. Even my thoughts were stuttering with shivers. Still, the thoughts came, memories of those days at the lost beach, our current project at Sandy State Realty Co., the baby turtles we were watching, rescuing from the predators. It was safe to think of the animals, the birds and the dogs and the snakes, the fishes, the tadpoles and the crocodiles. It was forbidden to think of Mullet. I licked my lips, tasting frozen salt. Why was I crying? The obvious answer was that I had been shut in a freezing hell for… how many hours? Two, three now? I gave up counting the seconds, afraid of losing my mind like I had lost my hands and feet, stolen by the cold. I couldn't see, but I could still think. I made myself remember the names of the baby lizards we were raising after the mama had been hit by a trucker on the interstate. Skipper, Funnel, Crawl, and Slate. My face softened for a moment as I tried to smile. I remembered Mullet feeding Slate out of a bottle, the milk running down its slippery skin. I remembered when Funnel bit me, and Mullet pressed a bandage on my finger, laughing at the fierceness of the tiny thing.
Flashback:
"It's not funny!"
laugh snort "No, it's not. You're right…" laugh "It's horrible, the way a 3-inch reptile can send a hiccup teenage guy into tears." Peals of laughter.
"I wasn't crying!"
"Yes you were!" He swiped a dirty finger across Roy's face. "What's this, if not a tear?"
"Yea, well, I was shocked, not scared."
More laughs. "Are you sure?"
"Shut up!" But now Roy was laughing too.
"You okay now?"
"Yes, I'm fine! Now, can I have my finger back?" But he could hold it forever.
"Not yet… there. Now you can stand up to anything." But the genuine care slid in with the teasing made it all worth it for Roy…
Back to Future:
I fell back into reality, which doesn't make sense since I couldn't fall, I couldn't even blink. It was pathetic. I was pathetic. I was kidnapped and stuffed in a freezer, for God's sake! How could Dana be so cruel? Surely I would die before the lunch lady found me, and the ambulance came, I would die… and I hadn't even thought of Mullet, except once. Good for me, Roy. Good for me.
Then I knew nothing.
Chapter Three: Raising the Temp
A feeling woke me. Sounds weird, normally I get up whenever my alarm clock rings, or it gets too light out for my eyes to stay closed. But this time it was a feeling. Someone was touching my neck. Then I heard a soft voice, "one one thousand, two one thousand, three one thousand, four…" I opened my eyes, and immediately shut them again. It hurt. A lot. It was so bright out. But my head was spinning. The hand moved to my forehead, and it tingled, like when your foot falls asleep and you try to take a step. I guess it was still frozen. Suddenly, everything was tingling, as I tried with a lurch to feel what was awake. Nothing. Everything was still frozen solid. So I tried to think. I'm lying down. That's different. Everything hurts. It's light out, so I'm not in the freezer. And it's light out, so it must be morning. I figured I must be in the hospital, and someone must've found me. I'd find out when I woke up fully. Hey! I thought, maybe I'm in a coma. At first the thought was pretty cool, since I could skip school and Dana would be SO busted, and maybe go to jail again, but then I remembered Mullet. We were supposed to go to Sandy State tonight, no… er, last night. He'd think I abandoned him. I was really mad about that. He couldn't think I'd do that! He just couldn't! I had to do something. But first, I had to open my eyes.
So I did. Sorta. A slit of sunlight streamed in, but I stopped there. I noticed I was breathing really heavy, in and out, in and out, like a marathon runner. I still couldn't move anything else, but I was sure glad to be able to see a little bit. I could hear too, because I heard a familiar voice.
"He's up! Bea, Bea! He's up! He's up!!!" Was that Mullet? No, Mullet never got excited. He never cried out like a girl.
"Oh, I'm so glad!" Bea's smooth voice sounded satisfied. "I knew the compresses would work. Google never lies."
I took a chance and opened my eyes a crack more, and oops. They rolled back into my head, and I slumped back. Ow.
I was being supported by the two of them, and someone was rubbing my scalp.
That felt soooooo good. I didn't try to open my eyes again for another few minutes, until Bea asked, "Roy? Roy? Can you hear us?"
Then I snapped my eyes open, because I didn't want them to think I was totally helpless.
"Good." The rubbing stopped. Aw, I liked the mini-massage. And it had waked me up. He (or she) was an expert.
Now I looked around. Bea stood leaning over me, a thermometer in her hand.
"Open up, Cowgirl." I pressed my lips open a little, as far as I could.
She took my temperature. "Whew… only 84 degrees F… that's pretty bad. You reckon we should we take him to the hospital?"
Another hand came over my forehead. That feels familiar.
Then he spoke.
"Naw, Roy's strong. Ain't you, Roy?"
It was Mullet. I was NOT weak. I had to say something.
"Mhmm."
Smooth. But Mullet wasn't laughing. He took the compress off my chest and put it on my forehead.
"I'm not a doctor, but I bet he'll do a lot better once we get his temp up a little, and look at it this way, Bea, at least he won't have a fever to break!"
"Yea… oh my gosh! How will we explain this? How do you explain hypothermia and partial freezing body parts in Florida?"
"You just gotta tell the truth, Bea. That piece of crap Dana locked him in the freezer."
"But how did I find him? I was at soccer practice till seven!"
"Oh… okay, you found him afterwards!"
"But just how was I in the school kitchen after they locked up?"
"Good point."
Bea made an exasperated noise. "What time is it?"
Mullet checked the clock, and I realized we were on the boat. "Eleven-thirty."
"That's late. They're probably looking for him. What do we do?"
I tried to speak, and found my tongue was stuck. I gave up, and watched them try to sort it out.
"We'll… take him to the police station and pretend he was robbed!"
"Now that's just stupid, Mullet."
"Well, what do you think, then?"
"I think I have to call his parents, to stop them from worrying."
"What are you going to tell them?"
"Maybe that Roy's been kidnapped and he's staying on a fishin' boat." The sarcasm was unmistakable.
"No!" Mullet snapped his fingers, his blue crystal eyes lighting up. "You'll call and pretend you're a church minister, and there was a church party tonight…"
He trailed off, but Bea caught on fast.
"Hello, ma'am, this is Sherry Cornwallis, youth minister at First Presbyterian. Your son Roy just told me he forgot to call you about the lock-in tonight. Oh yes, he's here, and everything is fine. Yes ma'am, but I could bring him home if there's a problem… we normally drop them off at school the next morning, and he says he brought a set of clothes. We will have them sleep a few hours. What? Oh yes ma'am we're very organized, they all have cots and we'll pop in a relaxation CD after prayer," Bea clapped a hand over Mullet's mouth to keep him from making faces at her while she was talking. I could hear my mom's higher voice asking a question.
"Yes, the church has a telephone, but…" Bea was a good improv. actor.
"I just remembered. I'm so sorry ma'am, our line was cut when the gale cut all the power a few days ago. That's why we've been operating off of cell phones. But if Roy needs anything we can call. He's having a lot of fun now, they just finished playing bible Jeopardy."
Now I was chuckling too, though it hurt the skin on my face. "Yes ma'am, I'll tell him. Yep. Uh huh. Oh, wait, I have to go, one of the girls wants me. I'll tell Roy you said hi. Thanks! Good-bye, Miz Eberhart."
Bea hung up with a "thunk" and burst out laughing, a wheezing, side-hugging laugh that Roy found irresistible and Mullet too, apparently. But the laugh turned into a yelp when my lips finally split and blood gushed out of the raw, purple skin. Without panicking, Mullet tore off a sleeve of his brown rocker T-shirt at the seam and pressed it on the source of blood-flow, completely Marine-style.
"Careful, there, man. A joke isn't worth killing yourself over." But he was smiling with sympathy. I hated the pity. I was already mad. Mad at myself, for teasing Dana, for falling for his trick, for ending up frozen, for being so helpless! It was unbearable. I couldn't move. My muscle tone was shot.
Bea walked out to the deck and came back with a bottle of water from the fridge, which she opened and handed to Mullet. "This is too gross for me. You do it, bro." He took it and poured a dribble onto the rag, now blood-soaked. He proceeded to clean blood from my face and hands, especially under my nails, where I had struggled the hardest. "And now to stop dehydration." I wanted to hate being fed like a baby, but it felt really good. Then I remembered it must've been Mullet massaging my head, to help clear it. Where did he learn all this?
Chapter Four: FLASHBACK; Where He Learned It All
A boy lay wide-eyed under a bunk-bed while his mate slept soundly. A groan emitted from his chapped lips.
"Somebody, help me!" He whispered. He was sick, he was tired, he wanted his mom, he wanted Bea, he wanted to go home!
"Psst!" An unfamiliar voice, deeper than the 10-yr-old's.
"W-who's there?"
"Shut up! Unless you wanna get thrown in the slammer outside, with the bats and roaches!" The voice had a different feel, some accent.
The younger boy muttered something that sounded like "Rather have the bats and roaches," but the older one wasn't listening.
"Hey, you. You're comin' with me, right? I can help you."
So he followed, a difficult task in the pitch-black darkness maneuvering around the four beds in their cabin, and the older boy cut the alarm bell before opening the door wide enough to get out.
"Yea, we're going on a little trip." And with no further ado, he tossed a brown lunch bag over the little boy's head.
"Wha? Why are you-?"
"Don't ask questions. Just walk forward. I'm here with you. Sorry, but you can't know where this is. The officers will try to trick you into telling."
A firm hand guided him around the waist.
"Who are you, anyway?"
"Name isn't important. You can call me Merlin."
"Why?"
"Merlin was a wizard. He could do magic, and cool stuff like that."
"I know who he was. But you aren't a wizard."
"I know that. But by the time we're done you'll think I am."
Now the blond boy was even more confused. They took several more steps before his grip clenched on the young'un's waist and they halted. He felt the bag slide off.
"We're pretty far from camp. Not that you'd wanna go back in that shape." Merlin, he saw, was pretty tall and lanky, with dark brown hair and slitted black eyes that shone in the moonlight.
"Why are we out here?"
"You wanna get better, right?"
"Y-yes."
"First you gotta tell me how they did this."
He shook his head. He didn't want to remember. Because some things that happen at military boot-camp should never be told. But the brunette wouldn't take no for an answer, so he plunged in, wishing it was already over. He told, in a halting, gulping voice, about the taunts that turned into getting smacked around, that turned into getting whipped, that turned into…
"What???"
"H-hickeys."
"How do you know that's what those are?"
"My mom… she had a lot of boyfriends."
"Oh. Those bastards."
"It's my fault. I'm a pretty boy. I deserve it."
Merlin tossed his head back at the moon, as if enraged that it would shine tonight.
"Now listen to me. Listen! Those boys are nothing but filthy criminals, okay? They're scum. They're evil. And you don't deserve it."
"Should I tell an officer?"
"NO!" Merlin's eyes widened too wide for their slits. "They'll make an example of you. No, next time they try anything, you run and tell me, and I'll make them stop. But as soon as you can, like on our next visit to town, you gotta run away."
The blonde shook his head.
"You have to."
"Nu-uh, can't."
"Why not?"
"My mom doesn't want me."
"Don't you have anyone?"
"Well, my sister likes me, but she's only 12."
"Hmm. I guess I'll have to teach you how to live on your own."
His face lit up.
"But first, I'll fix these scrapes. Is anything broken?"
"Not that I can tell. But my arms are stinging, and my head hurts a lot."
Merlin appraised him. "Your head comes first. You won't last here without it. Sit down." He lit a flashlight he procured from a knapsack and showed him to a seat on a warm rock. "Lean back. There we go." And he began to stroke his hair, as he did, telling him about all his favorite animals, in a soothing voice. The blonde boy lay back, drifting into welcome oblivion, listening to his first friend's voice, and feeling his masterful Taiwanese hands massage his cares away…
Chapter Five: Tension
Mullet seemed a little preoccupied as he kneaded the knots out of Roy's shoulders. In the short time he'd been working, he had pounded the frozen skin on his face and neck, and now he could move everything down to his fourth vertebrae. As he did, he talked about Sandy State, but Roy was only listening to the sound of his voice tripping over the Latin animal names.
"And there's even Hyra versicolor, the European grey tree frog, all up in those trees they want to chop down. They're scarce in this area. But then again, all the stuffed-shirts see is a great big money sign."
Roy only nodded. That was strange. Normally he gave great input about what course of action to take. So Mullet decided to trick him.
"So I'm thinking, we could just dynamite the whole thing!" He said, using a chopping motion down the center of Roy's back. He only nodded again.
"Hey, earth to Roy! What's on your mind? These frogs are dying, and you're just sitting there. You still pissed at Dana?"
"Nah…"
"Then what is it?"
"Well…" He had to think of something to say. "Um, how did you find me?"
"Oh." Mullet was thankful Roy couldn't see him blush. "I just… you know, heard you rustlin' around in that big ol' fridge and wondered if a raccoon got in there. Kinda weird to find a kid in there, instead." He chuckled, a little nervously. But Roy didn't catch it.
"Why were you at my school at… when was it?"
"Bea reckons you were in there for five hours, since your skin tone was puce, as opposed to a motley reddish brown. She's addicted to Google. So, er, yea, we think you were in there from 3 until eight. Then we took you here, and you woke up at eleven fourty-ish." Whew, he had skated over that one.
"Were you mad when I didn't make it to the site?"
"Nah, I just left the footprints as planned, and tore down all the direction signs."
"Where'd you put them?"
"Well, they just happened to shred themselves and scatter in the mailbox of the land developer. Oh, and I cut the fuel line on the lumber trucks, so that should stop the "progress" for a while." He smirked. He was so cute when he smirked. Damn him.
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(Okay, time for some Mullet Finger's POV!)
Why wasn't Roy paying attention to me? I had to freakin' fight for every look he gave me! It was so not fair. Not that I didn't like massaging him; that alone gave me chills. But he should appreciate it. I'm GOOD at massages, now. I can do all kinds, too. It would take an MD to fix that frostbite, and I've only been at it for a half-hour, and I've got half his body fixed. Now the legs.
"Stretch your left leg as far as you can."
"What??"
"Isn't it frozen stiff? Push it out toward my chair."
"No."
"Why not?"
"It's weird, man."
"No it's not. If you were a cougar with a broken paw, or a bear stuck in a trap I'd do the same thing."
"But I'm a guy! Not a stupid animal."
"Well if that's how you feel!" Now he was just ticking me off. Stupid Roy with his great first name and curly hair and stupid, stupid Roy!
"Look, you can sit here and rot until your flesh becomes blue and putrid with disuse and you need an amputation, OR you can let me fix it and go to school tomorrow and no one will ever know Dana did that to you."
Roy still wouldn't talk to me. I threw my hands up.
"Fine. Go ahead! Be paralyzed for life. See if I care!"
I stormed out to talk to Bea, who was sitting on the lawn chair drinking a Pepsi.
"Are you done with Roy already? That was fast!"
"No, Bea, he won't see reason. He's being an immature jerk just 'cause of a massage."
"Well it's understandable he'd be uncomfortable."
"No it's not! It's normal!" Her eyebrow shot up.
"It is too!"
"If you say so, Mullet." Well she just didn't understand. It was normal! I threw my legs over the side of the deck into the lifeboat and slid down.
"Where're you goin'?"
"Fishin'," I replied grimly.
"All your stuff's in the cabin, with Roy."
"Then I'll use my hands."
"You need a bag?"
"I'll toss 'em back!"
"Well, okay then, if—"
But I was already gone.
Chapter Six: Light in the Distance
I stood up, quite uncomfortably, since, as Mullet predicted, my legs were still mostly frozen. At least it couldn't hurt, what with no feeling but numbness from the top of my thighs to the bottom of my feet. But I still had to lean on the walls for support. Then I saw something incredibly strange.
"Bea!" I called. She came running.
"What's the matter, Cowgirl?"
"Where's Mullet?" There was an edge to my voice I tried to hide.
"Fishin'." She rolled her eyes, "I know. Why?"
"Look out there!" I pointed out the window.
"Well, what is it? I don't see anything?"
"Squint." I ordered her. "There's a light in the distance."
"Oh yea! I couldn't see it without my glasses, but—hey! It's coming too close!"
"I know. What is it? Go check."
She ran to the deck, and I tried to hobble closer to the window.
"You're right! Oh my gosh, it's a raft! There's a person on it!"
I was becoming visually panicked. If someone discovered Mullet Finger's hiding place, he would have to move. If he had to move, I'd never see him again.
Not to mention all the cool creatures that would die. All because of a stupid raft…
But I was getting ahead of myself. Thank God for Beatrice the Bear. I just sat back listening to her cool, smooth voice.
"Hello?"
"Ah, hello! We… need… uh, help!" A Spanish voice. But Bea had grown up in Florida, and knew basic conversation.
"Venga conmigo." (Come with me.)
"Uh, el muchacho (the boy), he tell me, you go this way to the boat, yes? Y las personas alli ayudaté y su nina." (And the people there will help you and your baby girl.) Then I heard it: A piercing wail, put up by a Hispanic toddler.
"Su nina, necesita el hospitál?" (Does your baby need a hospital?)
"Si, necesitamos un medico, por favor! Está enferma!" (Yes, we need a doctor, please! She's sick!)
"No preocupe, yo le cuidaré de." (Don't worry, I've got you. You're fine.)
Bea took out the ladder and led the mother off of the boat, yelling to me, "Stay where you are, Roy! I'll be back after I make Leon dinner!"
I sat; what else could I do? I felt utterly useless, and now I had no chance of getting my legs back soon now that Mullet had gone. I would have to keep them covered and still to ward off the frostbite, and hope infection didn't set in with disuse. I tried futilely massaging them myself, but my hands grew cold and tired, and I was afraid they'd stiffen up again. I wondered what time it was, and if I could go to sleep if I tried. I found I could… and… (yawn).
I was so knocked out I didn't notice the creak as the window opened and a slim, blonde figure slid deftly inside the cabin.
Chapter Seven: An Angel
I introduced the mother to the translator, and then I tried to run off when he went back for a notepad, but the young Cubana grabbed my hand. I looked back, and there were tears in her eyes.
"Thank you." She said in simple English. "Thank you!" And her voice cracked.
I bit my lip. What could I say? "De nada." You're welcome sounded so lame.
She wiped away tears with the back of her sleeve.
"Dice gracias al muchacho tambien." (Tell the boy thank you, too.)
I froze. How could I convince her that my step-brother didn't exist? I couldn't argue with a woman so distraught, but I couldn't chance that she'd blab to the translator, and it would make trouble for Mullet Fingers.
"No fue un muchacho, señora. Fue un ángel." She looked a little puzzled, but I trusted her faith to lead her on. As the translator started to walk to us, I ran down the hall and burst through the double doors out of the hospital, my own Spanish words echoing in my head:
Not a boy, an angel.
------------------------------------------------------((((((Mullet Finger's POV!))))))
I sat there for a few minutes, just watching Roy. How he was breathing, was he sweating, how was his muscle control, all the medical stuff Merlin had taught me to watch for, what were they called? Oh, duh, the VS: vital signs. And thinking about Roy was too complicated, so I guess I drifted back a couple months…
FLASHBACK:
"Psst. You awake, kid?"
"Yea. I'm ready."
The familiar lunch bag came over my head, and I groped for his hand.
"C'mon, you should know the way now." He wouldn't lead me. So I strained to remember the steps I'd take last night.
I made it about ten paces, then THUD!
I rubbed my knee, managing not to yowl in pain. I was an old hat with pain recovery now. I felt blood. Great. I tore off part of the bag to stop the bleeding so I wouldn't leave a track, and I edged around the bedpost that had attacked me.
"whip-poor-will. Ooo-ooo-o." I answered with a "Oo-oo. Oo-oo." My call, a hoot owl. It felt good to be recognized, that he knew I was hurting, and he'd fix it.
Just as soon as I got to the place.
After another ten minutes of struggling, I found myself out of the trail and into the woods, where I could safely remove my bag. When I did, a hand came on my shoulder. I started before I realized it was Merlin.
"Good job, kid."
"Hey Merlin?" I asked.
"What?"
"My knee's bleeding."
"Oh. Hey, lemme show you how to fix it." He looked around. "Go get some of those leaves."
"Which ones?"
"The fluffy ones down by that patch of moss."
And we spent the evening on something sorta like plant studies, where he'd show me where stuff growed, and what to use it for. I almost forgot what I'd been dying to tell him earlier as we were running like wolves in the moonlight.
"Merlin, man, I think I'm gonna run away."
He stopped dead in a run, and I nearly ran into him.
"How?" I noticed he didn't ask why, and I didn't want him to. I wasn't ready to tell him about the newest form of entertainment in the barracks, a sadistic form of torture that starred me. Besides, he probably already knew.
"I don't know. Can you help me?"
He considered for a minute, and then started running. I was confused. Was this his way of saying no? But he motioned for me to follow, so I sprinted after him. My legs were getting muscular after the severe training we did, plus all the running I did for an hour at night. I was grateful. I'd probably need it later, and running in the mountain forest was a joy to be free, not like on the black, round track at base camp.
"Kid, if you're gonna run away, you need to get past that."
I stared. He was pointing at a huge wall, surrounded by vicious, cut wire fences. I set my jaw stubbornly.
"I can climb pretty well."
He laughed, a strange sound in his Taiwanese accent.
"You can climb the Thunderwall? In my language, we have no word for this kind of power. Look." He swiftly ran to the wall, peeled off a shoe, and threw it at the Thunderwall. It… vibrated. The wall was electric! I hung my head in shame.
"What will I do?" He picked up the fallen shoe and slid it back on.
"You gotta get to town and hitchhike."
"How will I get there?"
"The third-years are taking a trip there two days from now. You can sneak on the bus, if you're ready."
I considered the possibility grimly. There was no doubt it would be risky. But in my mind were the greedy, piggish eyes of the bigger boys, the hands that clawed but never felt, and my own pain. And I knew as long as I was within reach, they wouldn't stop.
I nodded, and we began running back.
FLASHBACK OVER.
Chapter Eight: Gory Fun
"I can't do this." Roy was forced to admit.
Bea strutted into the room, and cracked her knuckles.
"Okay, cowgirl. I'm not Mullet, but you gotta go to school. C'mon."
He willingly held out a stiff leg, supported by both hands. She kneeled at his side and kneaded his muscles as if she was rolling out dough for cookies. Roy winced, and she smirked at him.
"Shouldn't-a had such an attitude, man." No remorse, Bea was frustrated. Mullet Fingers still hadn't returned, even after Bea came back from fixing Leon breakfast. She had been sure he would return to help Roy. Was there a deeper problem between them? Even she, who understood Mullet best, couldn't know.
"Owwww…"
"Shut up, cowgirl."
"Okay, I think I can move it! Next one." She obliged, shoving his other leg out like she'd push a door open. "Ease up, no tension." Roy tried not to bite his lip.
After what seemed like forever, he was ready to change and hop on the handlebars of her bike.
"C'mon cowgirl, you better not make me late."
And sure enough, they arrived just as the first bell was ringing. She ran off to join the soccer girls without another word, leaving Roy to limp off to his first class.
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Math and English went by fine, except for the fact that Roy was bored to tears and reduced to staring blankly out of the window in both classes, dreaming of boat rides in the mires, jetting by the beach and jockeying a boat from the dock with Mullet (AND Bea, his brain told him tauntingly). He didn't even notice when the bell rang for lunch, so he had to run to make it there on time.
Finding a lunch table was hard since Bea was in the library, presumably working on an upper-grade project with her class. Roy stood for several seconds looking for Garret before he found him by the water fountain.
"Hey man."
"Hello Garrett."
"What are you doing on Saturday?"
"Well, I think my parents are planning something. Why?"
"Dude, try and get out of it. We're gonna go watch a cock-fight in the Freedoms." The Freedoms were a government-assisted neighborhood, a nice way of saying ghetto in Roy's dad's opinion.
"I dunno…" Roy searched for an excuse. What could he say?
"Admission's free, but they're taking a lot of bets. I've got 5 bucks on the yellow one already, just for kicks. Right?"
"Ha, yea." Now he was fishing for anything to say.
"Why do they have cock-fights down here? Sounds boring." Sounds violent, is what he meant.
"Nah, man, it's awesome! Better than wrestling on TV!" Another gory entertainment Roy did not enjoy. Great.
"Yea I'll try to come, but I'm not sure. My folks'll kill me."
"Yea, just try. It's not like you won't hear who won anyway."
"I won't?"
"It'll be all over school." He paused, looking around nervously. "Dana Matherson said his uncle trained the red cock. I hope it's a better fighter than he is, for Dana's sake. He put $40 on it!"
"Forty dollars on a ROOSTER?!?"
"Keep your voice down, Roy!"
"That's just… a lot, you know? What if the fight's like, busted?"
"Oh, they paid the bribes, it's all cool-cool, ya know?"
Roy nodded eagerly, glad to see Garrett was done discussing it. As they went on to bash the English teacher with renewed vigor, something Roy was only half listening to. Other questions raced through his mind.
Would he go to the cock fight?
Did he want to see Dana get beat on a bet?
Did he want to even watch the fight?
Would he be able to if he could stand it?
How bad would it be to get caught?
What would Mullet Fingers say?
His stomach gave a sickening lurch at that last question. Mullet Fingers. The boy would hate him for even considering participating in a crude form of animal abuse like this. Thinking of Mullet convinced him. No matter what, he would not set foot at that cock fight.
No matter what.
Chapter Nine: Spiritual Guidance
Soccer practice had ended, and Beatrice Leep was genuinely worried about the sick infant she had left at the hospital. So she figured she'd take Roy to the hospital to check up on the Cuban child before they returned to the Molly Bell to plot and do homework.
Only problem: Roy was nowhere to be seen. So she did the logical thing and left, stealing his bike again.
Upon finding the neo-natal ward (for newborns to nine-months), she snuck past the nurse on duty and pushed open the swinging doors. She found the infant with no trouble, since she was the only patient in this section. A heart monitor read the pulse, and Bea listened for a few minutes to the steady heartbeat. A sheet was hanging off of the adjoining table, and Bea saw nothing immoral in removing it to read through.
Diagnosis: Colic.
Condition: stable, vital signs holding well.
Mother's name: Margarita Soleil
Father's name: N/A (Bea didn't find this unusual, given the circumstances.)
Child's name: Sonrisa Guava Soleil
American citizen? Yes No x
She stopped reading. This was really none of her business, now that she'd determined the girl (Sonrisa! What a beautiful name! Like the sunrise, Bea thought) would be fine. So, with a tiny wave that would go unnoticed by the sleeping infant, Bea crept back out of the hospital, scarcely aware of the RNA who had kindly turned a blind eye to her visit.
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Roy weaved through the kids, avoiding Dana above all, to his bus. As he rode home, he recalled clearly the details he would have to tell his mother.
"Hey mom."
"Hi Honey! We missed you! Your father and I were so worried, we called everywhere, and when we couldn't find you, we asked Officer Delinko to write up a missing person's report! But then your minister called, and we knew everything was all right. But honey, you really ought to call us before you decide to go off on your own like that!" Roy had been expecting worse.
Now it was Dad's turn. He seemed puzzled.
"I didn't know you had Presbyterian friends."
Roy had to make something up fast. "Yea, well, not a lot of them, but a guy in my History class invited me to go last night, and I thought it'd be all right, and I just forgot."
"Oh, I'm not mad, Roy, but it would've been nice. Next time, make sure you call."
"Yes sir."
"So what are you doing this afternoon? Not going to church again?"
Roy started to say no, but in truth, here was a ready-made excuse not to come home from dinner.
"Sorry, dad, if it's okay… I mean, uh, yea."
But Roy's mom jumped all over the idea. "The Presbyterian church again? I can drive you!"
But Roy cut her off. "Uh, no Mom. Actually tonight it's a Catholic church." The Catholic Church was closer to the pier, so he could cut through the parking lot and meet Mullet at the beach. Roy's mom looked puzzled, but accepted it as a fad. Then she proceeded to talk the whole way.
"Mom, chill, it's a church."
"Okay, honey, but if you need to tell me anything? Are you feeling confused about your beliefs? Do you need some spiritual guidance? Is this why you're… I mean, it's wonderful that you're going to church so much, but, twice a week is strange for you… not that I don't love it, I do!"
Roy just chuckled. Better that way, he didn't have to lie.
"Good night, mom. I can walk home."
"Are you sure? It'll be dark."
"It's Coconut Cove, mom, what's the worst that can happen?"
As it turns out, a lot.
Chapter Ten: The Respect
As I approached the beach, I remembered the last time I'd been out here by myself. It seemed like ages ago, because in truth, I didn't like going to the beach without Mullet Fingers. It was boring, and there was hardly any wildlife. Mullet brought it all to him, as if he was a charmer or something. In fact, it occurred to me a couple of times that he WAS trained in the art of snake charming, because it just didn't make sense to me that a runaway boy like him would be able to mingle with cottonmouths like he did. It was unexplainable.
As I wandered aimlessly around, looking but not really seeing the beautiful beginnings of a wild red sunset on the coast, I was startled as everything went black: I felt two hands over my eyes.
When I tensed up and was about to panic, I felt the grip loosen. Those hands sorta felt familiar too, but I was in no state to recognize them. First Dana Matherson, and Garrett, and that stupid cock fight, now this! I ripped at the intruding hands, but they stayed resolutely. In addition, I was being guided somewhere. Roughly. I tried to scream, and one of the hands flew to my mouth. In addition, a low "shhh" emitted from behind me.
"Geez, Tex, can't take a joke?"
Mullet! I could've hugged him. Why was I being so awfully obvious? Maybe my nerves were just a little tight. Or... no.
"Hey Mullet Fingers."
"Hey man, get in. We've got a lot of work to do."
Minutes later, the boat pulled up on the beach where Sandy States Realty was meant to build, and to terrorize the fish, turtles and lizards that already called "Sandy State" home.
"Status check, man."
"Hmm, Roy, it's been a few days, maybe we should lay low."
I grinned; this had to be a joke.
"Or not."
"I like the way your think, Tex."
From the glove compartment of the stolen vessel, Mullet retrieved his sack, this time filled with spray cans of black paint.
"Let's go stop some real estate."
We spent the rest of the night painting over the For Sale signs for Sandy State, along with our usual ripping out of stakes from the ground. I added a personal touch: a drawing of a beheaded turtle on the side of the construction trailer. I meant to draw the entire turtle, but I ran out of paint in my can before I finished the head, so I guess it ended up as a beheaded turtle. Mullet seemed to like it.
"Nice job, Tex. Real meaningful."
"I'm surprised you know what it means, drop-out." I played with his hair. Nothing wrong with that, right?
He scoffed, "I ain't a drop-out. I might drop-in again sometime."
My eyes widened in hope.
"But that's neither here nor there, Roy. Tonight's about the critters." He pulled a fishnet from the boat, and we caught food for the turtles and tossed back the small ones. Then we took two good-sized silver ones to fry back by the golf course.
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"Mom! Dad! I'm home!"
"How was your night at church? Did you eat?"
"Yea mom, I ate. We had pizza." A boldfaced lie.
"What was the lesson, son?" His father sounded genuinely interested.
Roy thought for a second, trying to be as sincere as possible. If his answer seemed suspicious, his parents might question the youth minister. If it sounded cheesy, he'd feel awful for lying so badly to them. Given the circumstances, honesty wasn't that hard.
"Respect the world, respect all God's creation."
Chapter Eleven: He's Not Alone
A blonde, bronze-skinned boy dashed down East Oriole as he always did.
Only this time, he had a target in mind.
Mullet Fingers had arrived super early to the bus stop east of town, two blocks past the owl conservation. He sat leisurely watching the sun rise, estimating it was ten till seven. That was fine; he had all the time in the world, his rage wasn't going to go away.
-----------------------------------------------------
Meanwhile, a stout, pudge-waisted boy with a red backpack began ambling up the street, while muttering curses apparently to thin air. Stopping for breath, he looked around. He saw only an empty bus stop, nothing abnormal. He loped in an ungainly fashion to the unoccupied bench and sat down with a thud and shut his eyes in concentration.
"6 times 6 is 34… no 36, dammit."
"8 times 6 is 34, no… it's fifty something. Aw screw it I'm gonna fail."
The blonde found it almost amusing. He continued listening.
"So if I get 40 bucks from that cock fight I'll have $58…"
The blonde's deep eyes narrowed and furrowed at the thought of poor roosters being forced to fight to the death. He decided it was time.
"So when's the fight?"
He could tell he had startled the little whelp, who stared confusedly.
"What? Who are you?"
Thank God he doesn't remember me. But Mullet Fingers had changed a lot since that miniature stint at Juvie.
"That ain't important. Where's the fight?"
"My uncle's house. Down by the old shed." He pointed a stubby forefinger. "Saturday, at 8."
The blonde studied his expression with an air of carelessness.
"Really? I might just drop by; see if they're any good. I hear the ones here are wimpy compared to Tampa's." That was just the thing to say.
"Nuh uh! My uncle trained one bigger'n everybody's! It's gonna kill that other one so fast you won't believe it!"
The blonde laughed caustically.
"He trained it? You can't train a fighter. They're just born with it." He took a menacing step towards Dana, speaking evenly but cruelly.
"Roy Eberhardt wasn't born with it."
"What? Who?" Dana's eyes widened, he looked for a way to escape.
"Do you always pick on kids who seem alone, or are you just a sadist?"
"Roy? That loner twerp weren't worth nothin'. What's it to you?"
Now Mullet was holding Dana up by the front of his stained tee shirt.
"It matters a lot to you, now I'm gonna smash your head in for it." The boy was sweating and begging now.
"Hey man, I ain't never crossed you."
"Just don't mess with him again, you bastard, or I'll pound your skull in so hard your tiny brain will shatter and go all over the street!" And gesturing to said street, the blonde noticed the school bus turn closer.
So he dropped the bigger boy on his fat bottom and left him there whimpering, yelling as he ran, "Don't forget, Dana! Roy's not alone!"
Chapter Twelve: Motorboat Prayers
Roy Eberhardt couldn't believe his luck. Neither of his parents had bothered checking up on the Catholic Church lie, nor had his teachers requested the homework he hadn't done. It was almost as if he couldn't do anything wrong. So instead of sneaking from class to class avoiding Dana Matherson, he walked upright and even slapped Garrett a high-five in the hall. Life felt good.
Until Beatrice swiftly passed him a note marked "Caution" in deep red letters.
He decided to ask her about it after school.
"What was that about?" He was at her bike faster than she could hop on, so she turned to face him and sighed at the note in his hand.
"My brother. I couldn't chance a teacher swiping it; it was too risky for Mullet Fingers." Roy tried not to panic.
"What's wrong with him? He's not hurt, is he?"
"No… nothing like that. I just want you to be careful, is all."
"Why? What happened?"
"He didn't tell you?"
"We haven't really talked since the uh, when I uh, got out of the freezer."
"You mean when we saved your ass." Bea smirked.
"No need to use that word."
"Yea well anyway, cowgirl, if my brother goes to that cockfight tomorrow, he's not gonna make it out. He thinks he can beat up the whole crowd and save the roosters or somethin', he's crazy. He'll get clobbered. But of course he won't listen to me, I'm just the girl, but I know my brother's no match for—"
"He's going WHERE?"
"To this cock fight on Saturday, at this place near the old farm shed. You didn't know about this?"
"Yea, a kid told me it was happening, but how did Mullet find out?"
"I dunno, Tex, but it ain't good. He's gonna go, and he's gonna get clobbered."
"He's a strong kid."
"ROY! C'mon, you honestly can't think my brother could beat those thugs!" She lowered her voice, gesturing wildly. "There's a reason kids like you aren't allowed to go to cock fights. Normally it's only high-schoolers and up, because fights happen." She lowered her voice. "My dad went to one two years ago, had to bail out one of his old teammates. The guy ended up in the E.R., and my dad got a gash as thick as a paper clip in his neck. I was up all night taking care of him." Roy gulped.
"What do I have to do?"
"What do you mean? To stop him? I don't think we can. Remember the owls?"
"This is different! He'll get killed!" Roy was almost hysterical now. "Where is he?" Bea pondered the question.
"He's probably fishing, down in the channel off the waterfront."
"Okay thanks." Roy raced for his bike.
"Wait! I thought yall weren't…" He was a blur racing by; Bea only whispered,
"--weren't talking to each other."
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Roy was so worried about the barefoot kid, he didn't even say goodbye to Beatrice the Bear. He figured it would take him ten minutes to get to the front, but he got there in six. Huffing in oxygen, he scurried through the sand. Luckily, someone had moored a small motorboat not far from the public beach access, so Roy Eberhardt, the model citizen whose dad was with the Department of Justice, mercilessly hijacked it.
Skimming down the channel as fast as the small craft would go, Roy panned the surroundings for a glimpse of that blonde hair, the tan frame, even the woven anklet he always wore, with the weird Asian lettering. Roy realized Mullet hadn't ever bothered to tell him what it meant. Now it wasn't important. He couldn't find a trace of him, and after several more minutes, he slowed down the engine to save the power: he had to have enough to go home.
Still squinting into the distance, his mind swimming even as his body baked shirtless in the dry boat, Roy exhaled nervously. Now his anxious mind was paranoid. He had been mistaken to come out here. Was he lost? He'd never been on the channel without Mullet Fingers, never been out this far even with the blonde kid. Navigating in a car he was good at, but on water, he had no way of steering, except the tiller, which was a mystery to him, so he moved in a straight line, steering with his own body weight to avoid crashing into trees along the edge. Would he tip over? He didn't know how deep the water was, or what menacing sea creatures it contained.
In truth, Roy Eberhardt would've happily lived without knowing the wonders of the sea. He was somewhat of a wimp when it came to water, having nearly drowned in a white water rafting excursion when he was seven years old in the mountains. He had vowed never to get submerged in water again. (The vow was soon broken the next day in the bathtub.) But the absence of Mullet Fingers brought to Roy's mind that same feeling of helplessness that "Tex" wasn't used to feeling. So he did what every great adventurer does when confronted with a heart-stopping problem: he talked to himself.
"Whoa there, easy… a little to the left, here we go." He kept his balance.
"Oh my gosh is that a gator?" His breathing was almost constant now, his eyes wide as conch shells. It certainly looked like an alligator. He could feel the ripples as it bobbed in time with the current. He held back a scream, and sat perfectly still in the boat.
"Dear God, it's Roy. I love You--PLEASE don't let me die today. Let someone come help me, or make the gator go away! Help me! Amen"
He said the prayer a good dozen times, and with his eyes closed tightly, put a wary hand on the tiller, to check its power. It was hot. He opened his eyes.
He couldn't find the gator.
But he could hear something in the water, a smooth series of ripples echoing louder and louder in his eardrums.
Then, with no warning,
the
world
turned
upside
down!
------------------------------------------------------Sputtering and gasping for air, Roy reached the water's surface and came out of shock. Something had upset the boat. And that something was quickly making waves away from him, so that all he could see was an anklet with weird Asian letters.
Chapter Thirteen: Miracles Do Happen
Roy didn't remember lunging for the barefoot kid, or shouting his name, but he must've done something to keep him there. True, he had to work extremely hard to appear angry at Bea's stepbrother, but judging by the serious look on his perfect face, he'd done a good job. Now he could enjoy listening for the apology that was sure to come.
Yep, any second now.
"Hey, chill Montana." But there was a tension in the relaxed face: something like panic was taking over.
Roy didn't reply.
"Why're you out here?"
Stony silence.
"Okay, fine, don't tell me anything." But there was no denying now he was concerned. He turned away, and Roy itched to say something.
"Wait."
"What?"
"You wanna go fishing?" It was a stupid thing to say: but he had to keep Mullet Fingers there.
"You want me to go fishing with you?"
"Yea, you sound like you never been before." Roy tried to sound sarcastic.
It miraculously worked, and Mullet was grinning.
"Okay, Tex. C'mon." And he pulled Roy into the boat, where the brunette tried to act as though nothing serious had happened, like he got flipped over in a freshwater tributary every day.
"So did you bring anything? Line, bait?"
Roy wrinkled an eyebrow, and it occurred to Mullet Fingers that Roy stole the boat.
"Really? Dude, you have started thinking like an outlaw!" He seemed impressed. "What was so important?"
Now it was Roy's turn to panic. He couldn't very well say "you".
But Mullet seemed to get the idea.
"Oh."
-------------Mullet's Point of View------------------
Roy's blue eyes had never looked so beautiful. He was blushing now, and I thought I knew why. And I was never one to be embarrassed.
"It was me?" A low voice asked.
He nodded, avoiding my gaze. I couldn't blame him.
For a minute, a long, long minute, passed with both of us looking at the water, the golden sunset, anything to avoid looking at the other's eyes.
Then I knew I had to do something, or I'd screw up this one chance.
But I couldn't think of a word to say.
If I'd had the time, I would have written a speech for Roy. I'd have told him how he saved me from becoming insane, and how I thought about him all the time, and all the things he meant to me, but I realized in about three seconds how corny that sounded, and my tongue stayed dry.
So I held his hand.
And it felt all warm and sweaty. But I barely noticed, because he was actually letting me hold his hand. And I know this sounds really stupid, but it was honestly the best feeling I'd had in years. And it was one of those times when I can forget everything and feel normal.
No, not normal. Awesome, totally mind-boggling, way better than normal! Like when a sight takes your breath away and you want to cry and laugh at the same time.
And just when I thought my mind would explode with this giddy feeling, he spoke up.
And I was reminded of why I love him.
"I was looking for you."
I grinned: how could I help it?
"Hey man, I'm glad you did." And I hugged him. Only for a few seconds, but it felt like a few seconds in heaven. And it wasn't a sappy, aww-I-love-you-too-Mom kind of hug. It was a… I don't even know what kind of hug that was. But I do know that when we finally let go again, we couldn't stop looking at each other.
So we nearly hit the huge black bird that swooped down in front of us.
Chapter Fourteen: Anything
I swear it wasn't Roy's fault. He barely knew how to steer, and it had almost swooped in front of us. Plus, I mean, we had other things on our minds. So here was this majestic bird alighting on a log in the water, and of course my mind is on over-drive, so I think of birds- then Roy- then birds again- then cock fight! And I feel sick. Because I don't want to have to tell Roy about this. It seemed so easy before, so simple: get the roosters out safe or die trying. I was in a fight with Roy anyway, so what was wrong with dying? Maybe that's a little messed up, but whatever. I didn't care.
So he's looking at me, and my face must've given somethin' away, because he's staring at me like he knows somethin' I don't. And I'm wishing he won't say anything about it, because it already hurts.
"Mullet, we have to talk." Damn. He said somethin'.
"What?" Oh, I sound SO smooth. Pathetic.
"Well, tomorrow there's supposed to be an illegal cock fight held by Dana Matherson's uncle."
"Yea, I heard." Man, my voice sounds dead. I can't even clear my throat.
"So, are you going?" Is he for real?
"Um… not to bet." Why can't I talk to him about this? Still, Roy presses on.
"What are you planning to do, Mullet Fingers?" Hearing my chosen name on his tongue sounds so sweet, I just want to ignore the rest of what he said.
"Those poor birds are going to die if I don't do anything." I barely get the words out, cause it feels like there's a fire in my neck. And I'm hoping to God he'll just drop it, because I know if he tells me not to do anything then I'd gladly just l-let those p-poor creatures die. But he's looking at his hands, and thinking very hard.
Roy sighs, and my chest heaves, because it's a horrible sound.
"Let me come with you."
I'm completely shocked.
"No!" Much louder than I wanted it.
"Yes." His voice is steady, thoughtful. He's concentrating.
"No."
"Yes."
"N-no."
"Yes." And I know he's won.
"But…" I'm struggling, "You could get hurt."
"No." His calmness shakes me. "I have a plan."
"What is it?" I demand to know.
"You'll see, if you meet me tomorrow at the woodshed at 8:15."
"AM?"
"No, Mullet. PM."
"Why? The fight starts at 8 o'clock."
"Exactly. It has to last longer than fifteen minutes. We'll have time, trust me. And Mullet Fingers?"
"Yes?" Anything, Roy, I want to say. Thank you.
"Bring some paper, or straw if you can find it. I'll take care of the rest."
And I gulp, but nod. It won't do any good to back out now.
Anything for you, Roy Eberhardt.
Chapter Fifteen: Scripted Interrogation
Beatrice Leep was forced to do one thing she'd never dreamed in her wildest dreams she would do.
She went to the police for help.
The police, who had several times chased after her beloved brother. She was now enlisting them to help her save him.
"Name?" The faintly bored sergeant gave her a quick up-down.
"Breanna Larson." She had no reason to have police calling her home.
"Occupation… err, school?"
"I go to Trace Middle. Eighth grade."
"Of course. Now, what business do you have here, Breanna? Something wrong, another kid bullying you?"
Beatrice firmly resisted the urge to roll her eyes. Instead, she took advantage of his idiocy.
"Well, no sir. But this is way worse, detective!" She could tell by his uniform he was nowhere near detective, but he was cocky enough to not correct her.
"Well, missy, what seems to be the trouble?"
She couldn't tell him that easily. He'd think she was making trouble. Plus, it would be fun to be interrogated for the first time.
"I… I can't tell you. My cousin said he'd beat me up if I did, and he made me promise! But it's so awful." She stared at her hands in her lap, and clenched a fist to keep from laughing at his confused face.
"Now see here, Breanna, we're the police! If there's something bad going on, you can trust us to help! We'll make sure nobody hurts you."
Wow, thought Beatrice. What a cornball. This was too cute.
"Will I get in trouble for breaking the promise?" One more time, then she'd give it up.
"No, ma'am of course not! You see, Breanna," and here the ignorant copper got down on one knee in front of her chair and talked right to her face-to-face, like a cop in a crime show comforting an abused child, "Breanna, you won't get blamed for what your mean old cousin does, no matter if you did promise. Because you're a good girl, and you're right to come here. Understand?"
I understand you have exceedingly bad breath, Beatrice thought sincerely.
"Oh yes, officer, but… oh, all right, I guess I'll have to tell. After all, I came all the way down here, and it wouldn't be any good just to chicken out now." The young officer nodded eagerly at her.
"You see, my cousin Dana, Dana Matherson, he… he's not the best friend. And our uncle must be a bad influence on him, my mom always says, because he drinks and all… and, well, they have these pet roosters. And I used to go and pet them and all when they were babies. But my mom stopped letting me play with them, she says they're dangerous. And I asked why, because roosters are nice birds and all, and she said," Beatrice lowered her voice here, "And my mom said Dana was making those roosters fight each other! And I never told anybody this." Beatrice would've liked to see the officer's face turn down, instead he listened impassively. So she took it a step further than planned.
"And, well… I went by their shed yesterday, and our uncle and Dana were there, and I was scared and I wanted to go home, but they locked me in." Now the cop's ears pricked up. Beatrice could almost see the wheels turning in his mind: Attemped kidnapping = arrest; and arrest = good for police officer.
"So, Breanna, what happened next?"
Crap, she had to make something up fast.
"Well, I yelled for help, but, nobody came, and…"
"And what?"
"And then I tried to kick it open. And it finally came undone. And I was so scared I ran right here."
He gave her an appraising look, or clearly what was supposed to be an appraising look.
"You kicked the lock open?"
She tried to appear flustered, which was not too hard.
"I must have, because… oh I'm sorry, I forgot! I was so scared because I thought a rooster was gonna kill me! But… I'm okay now, but am I gonna be in trouble? You said I wouldn't!" Now she had him cornered.
"Yes, Miss Larson. I can't punish you for that." Now he was trying to take advantage of her.
"Are you going to go get the roosters?"
He seemed taken aback: here was this teenager was telling him how to do his job.
"Well, we aren't allowed to do that…"
Liar, Beatrice thought fiercely. If only Officer Delinko still worked here instead of this hog-tied villain. He must have taken a bribe from Dana's uncle! The officer showed her out, giving her a pamphlet on the police station protocol. Beatrice considered throwing it in the nearest trash can, but it had phone numbers for all the offices in Southern Florida, so she decided to hold onto it, if only for the sake of playing pranks.
For now, she had to stop her brother from committing suicide all for some roosters.
Chapter Sixteen: Preaching Passion
Roy raced home, running almost as fast as Mullet Fingers. The feeling of the wind through his hair, his pulse beating rapidly, let him know he was alive… he was ALIVE! More alive, at any rate, than he had ever felt. The barefoot kid had that effect on Roy.
"Honey, why do you need my kerosene?"
Damn. What an awkward situation. And yet, perhaps because he was always hanging with Beatrice, he had leafed through her book.
"Church barbecue. Kids only. The youth pastor's idea." It wasn't the lie itself that surprised him, but the easy way it slipped off his tongue. Scary, in fact. His dad shrugged and beckoned him inside for dinner, whereas his mom sounded worried when he related the lie.
"Maybe I'd better give him a call. What do they think they're doing, letting little children start a fire pit? Where's the gospel in that?" Luckily, Roy had started reading the Bible on his own time (more out of guilt than anything).
"Independence. All the famous Bible heroes were children once; even Moses. They gained freedom, faith, and strength from God. We can do the same." This felt weird; preaching to his parents. But his dad looked up from the paper, and clapped him on the shoulder. "I'm glad you're getting something out of this, son. We were getting worried when you got mixed up with that barefoot kid. Glad to see you weeded out the bad apple." Roy dropped his fork; he could feel his face flushing in rage.
"Honey don't use that, it's dirty."
"No he's not!" Oh damn. Of course, his mom was talking about the fork.
Roy was finding it quite hard to breathe.
"Mom I gotta go, uh, homework stuff." He wished he was as good as Bea under pressure. He could feel her eyes on his face, but he didn't dare look up to meet her stare. It was a long moment before she turned back to his dad and Roy was dismissed. Roy took measured steps to the foyer, afraid that they would suspect something. He waited for ten seconds, just breathing in and out, and heard something he never wanted to hear.
"Do you suppose he still thinks highly of the vagrant?"
"I'm sure I don't know, dear."
"Well I just hope all this church will be good for him. I don't trust those Catholics too much."
Roy felt as though someone had punched him in the stomach. He didn't remember running out the front door, or turning onto the street, or even the shouts of the kids in his neighborhood playing hockey. He just remembered running as fast as he could towards the beach.
He didn't even remember the kerosene.
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"Welcome to Gas-n-Go. What can I do you for?" The slick talk of the cashier, a tall, greasy man, helped Roy's morale a little.
"I need- uh, my dad needs a lighter. He's at work down the street, and…"
"Hold it, kid." The cashier held up a finger.
"C'mon it's the truth!"
"I don't care," he tossed a lighter at Roy, and it clacked on the counter. "Can't smoke a lighter I reckon, so for $1.85 it's yours."
"Yes sir." Roy pulled his lunch money from his buffalo money clip.
"$3.15 is your change. Have a good day." He motioned for Roy to put the lighter away in his backpack. He stowed it away with the pre-cut sheaf of construction paper, paint, nails, and hammer already occupying his bag, and then set off at a fast walk to the hardware store.
"Kid, why do you want kerosene?" Roy wished people would stop asking him that. The hardware clerk seemed a little less tolerant, so Roy put on his best "I'm innocent" look and tried the cook-out line again.
"My church youth group is going to have a teen cook-out tonight, and I'm in charge of hot dogs and hamburgers." Secretly he crossed his fingers behind his back, hoping his face wouldn't give anything away. The clerk considered him for nearly ten seconds, then, without a word, scanned in the kerosene.
"Thanks, sir." Roy made his voice even lower.
"Bye, kid." The tone wasn't demeaning, but his eyes searched Roy's face.
Roy was very happy to take off running once he reached the door, the kerosene safely stowed in his backpack, lighter in his front pocket.
He had never felt so free, so full of purpose.
Chapter Seventeen: Flames of Fury
(Mullet Finger's POV)
I couldn't slow my heartbeat. It felt weird, because sitting on the beach and watching the waves coming in normally made me calm and tranquil. Now I felt jittery and impulsive, and I kept turning around at the lightest sound. I sat on a bale of hay (borrowed, not stolen) and in my lap I held a burlap sack filled with nails and scrap pieces of wood from the construction site at Sandy State. I had taken the liberty of trashing the place while I collected the supplies Roy asked for. It was all surprisingly easy. I guess when you live like a vandal, stealing and dexterity become a part of your demeanor. The thought scared and shocked me.
Speaking of scared and shocked…
"Hey." I spun around again, causing the hay to quake.
"Hey man." Why was my voice so lifeless? Roy stood with a hand on his hip, then swung the backpack off. I couldn't predict what he'd do.
I certainly couldn't predict this: Roy grabbed my hand, pulled me up and swept me into a hug. I awkwardly returned it, and the feelings of euphoria and shock returned. I cast my eyes down as an irrepressible smile caught my face.
"You ready?" Roy asked. How could I tell him how ready I was? Man, I'd follow him anywhere. The word "whipped" came to mind, but I shrugged in a would-be casual way.
"Let's go." And I stuck up my hand for a high five. After that touch, the tension was snapped, and I felt confident enough to pull my arm over his shoulder as we walked up the beach to the dock, swinging the hay and the sack as we went.
"You got a plan, Roy?"
"Nope. I guess I'm just gonna play it by ear. And if we get caught, I'll say you had nothing to do with it."
I stopped and dropped everything I was holding. I didn't take my hand off his shoulder.
"WE, Roy. I'm not going anywhere." And then I picked it all up again and started trudging back.
But I saw the relief behind his eyes. And my mind was set now more than ever.
"So I'm guessing we're gonna burn something?" I didn't know why I was whispering; call it instinct.
Roy nodded, and as we came closer to the town he lightly took his arm off of my shoulder. There weren't many kids in the streets, which was no surprise. Even in Coconut Cove people know when to beat it, and tonight was one of those nights.
"What do we do now?" We reached a crossroads. The barn was less than a mile off, and I could make out a group of two or three people in the distance.
"We wait, I guess. Put the hay down. We don't need it yet anyway. Let's do some Recon."
"Sure, man, but I cased the place when I heard. It's just the barn and open field till you reach the woods." His brow furrowed, and I desperately searched for a way to make this work.
"I guess we'll have to run fast, then." He shrugged, pretending to be unafraid.
I smiled, but in my mind I was screaming. "We're gonna get caught! Roy's gonna get caught!" I knew I could survive another trip to juvie, but I never wanted that for Roy. However, if he was determined to do this, then God help us.
"Where do we set up?" And the smile on his face was thanks enough.
"Over here, right up in front." His voice became serious. "Here's my plan. We spread the hay thick, but only light the paper, which burns the words "MURDER INSIDE". We kerosene the hay to burn a circle in the red paint. It should work, if my chem class is right, paint burns twice as long as hay, so the effect will be pretty good."
"Kay." I started pulling out handfuls of hay. "Man I hope this works."
As we worked in silence, I stared at the fire and thought back to another pyromaniac I once knew…
Chapter Eighteen: The Last Night
Flashback: (Mullet Finger's POV)
We sat around the expertly-made campfire (okay, fine, I made it, but it was still warm and bright)and stared up at the stars. It was the night before the trip to the city, my last chance to turn back. I searched the skies, wondering if I was doing the right thing. Merlin (I never did learn his real name; he had taught me the value of a good nickname) was lying on his stomach, poring over something or other, and I hugged my knees in close.
"Hey, Merlin?"
"Yea, kid?"
"I just wanted to say something."
Once again, he read my mind like a flashing billboard.
"You don't have to thank me. You needed help, it was a done deal." He rolled up on his heels and extended a hand to me.
"I made you somethin'. Try it on."
So I stuck out my hand, and he laughed.
"Nope. Try again." And I stuck out my other hand, confused.
"Strike two." Why was everything a quiz with this guy?
"Why don't you just tell me what you mean?"
"Because then you won't value what I'm giving you."
I sighed, and hesitantly pushed out my bare foot. He smirked, a satisfied grin.
"Good job. Best out of three." But he tied it to my leg all the same, and I saw it was made of soft grass, and he stained some of those weird Taiwanese letters onto it.
"What does it say?" I had to make sure he didn't write anything that would get me in trouble if I ever met another Taiwanese person.
"It's the secret of life, man." He pointed out each symbol, explaining the meaning. "In my culture, we believe in a simpler life, we don't monger for money and power like the Americans. Don't ever let anyone convince you that you have to fit into their rules. If you don't want to do something, get out of it, somehow. There's always a way if something is meant to be."
"But what is this secret?" I hid my restlessness.
"Life, death, love." He looked at me, as if expecting me to laugh or say something.
But I was breathless. I vowed never to take it off.
And when we silently snuck back into the camp that night, I watched him go into his cabin and I prayed for him, and for myself. This was my prayer: "Life, death, love."
It was the last night we'd spend together in the woods, but it wasn't the last night of my life. I would escape, and nothing would get me. Because Merlin, whoever he was, was right: there's always a way to get out of something that's bad for you. Merlin was my way out. He showed me how to escape.
And I was going to be Roy's escape.
Chapter Nineteen: Never Alone
Roy Eberhart was breathing too hard. He tried to slow his heart rate, but to no avail. Was it his nerves, or perhaps the beautiful blond boy kneeling beside him, peering around through the window and holding his hand. Roy just realized Mullet Fingers was holding his hand, and he gave it a grateful squeeze.
"I think we should split." Roy whispered in Mullet's ear.
"What gave you THAT idea?" Mullet wasn't being sarcastic: two of the men had just raised an alarm in the old shed, and dozens of people were looking around nervously, smelling the smoke.
"Let's go." Roy pulled himself up alongside the window, and stopped abruptly.
He was staring into the beam of a flashlight.
Mullet began to run for the cover of the woods, but a few seconds later he looked to see Roy turn with the police on his tail.
They'll trap him like a fox if I don't do something!
And in his desperation, he spied the row of cars lined up for the cock fight. People had just begun to leave, and in the mad confusion it was easy to hot wire an old Toyota.
God, please help me, I need to get Roy. Amen!
Strange that now his thoughts weren't of life or death, but love. Mullet Fingers the juvenile delinquent was becoming sentimental, and it was all the fault of a certain brunette boy. Well, no time to think about that, as Mullet gunned the engine and pulled alongside the shed, which Roy was circling rapidly for a fifth time, with now TWO cops on his tail, both searching with lights for the vandal in a red shirt.
"Roy!" His name cut through the madness to Roy Eberhart, who was thinking that Mullet Fingers had cut and run on him. The lucky one dived into the passenger side, flinging the door shut before the first cop turned the corner.
Mullet slammed the gas pedal and they were away, taking a roundabout route to the shipyard.
It was several strained minutes before Roy spoke, hesitantly.
"I-I thought you were gone on me back there, when I couldn't see you. I thought…" His voice went dry. Mullet took his eyes off of the empty road for a second and stared into Roy's eyes. Roy looked away first, ashamed. Mullet spoke.
"Starting from here, let's make a promise." He glanced back at the road, swerving to avoid hitting a stray seagull. Roy said nothing.
"You and me, let's just be honest." Roy looked back at Mullet Fingers, and the blonde reached for his hand, steering with the other hand. Roy's hand was much colder now, and sweating.
"We're gonna run, nothing can stop us." Roy shook his head. Mullet's voice became more definite.
"Even the night, that falls all around us! We're gonna run. They're not gonna get us!"
"Mullet Fingers…" Roy pleaded.
"They're not gonna get us." Mullet obstinately repeated.
"Not gonna get us." Roy said hoarsely.
And Mullet spoke reassuringly, feeding into Roy's imagination. As he went on, his voice rose a little and Roy realized he was singing. Roy was speechless. Mullet didn't seem to mind; the blonde drove on, creating a cushion of asphalt between them and any pursuers. The minutes flew like seconds, and Roy spoke up at last.
"I love you too, Mullet." And he let his head fall on the driver's shoulder, who put his free arm around Roy.
They traveled like this for the remaining miles, and Roy turned on the radio and found a Christian rock station. He knew the lyrics, and sang strongly.
"We cannot separate, cause you're part of me, and though you're invisible, I trust the unseen. I cry out with no reply, and I can't feel you by my side. So I'll hold tight to what I know. You're here, and I'm never alone."
And they parked a few miles from the docks and went aboard the Molly Bell.
Though he promised himself he wouldn't close his eyes, Roy sank onto Mullet's bed and fell asleep. A few minutes later, Mullet leaned down over the sleeping form to tell him good night. In Roy's unconscious state, he swear he heard someone say, "You're here, and I'm never alone."
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Tag der Veröffentlichung: 22.03.2010
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